


This is Bear Country

by DualWieldingCousland (DualWieldingMama)



Series: The Other Regan [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:52:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3726058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DualWieldingMama/pseuds/DualWieldingCousland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regan has to find her way, alone, in the snow after burying Haven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is Bear Country

How long had she been out here? How long had she been forcing one foot in front of the other through the snow? There were no tracks to follow. How could that many people have stamped through the mountains without leaving so much as a hint of a trail behind them? Was she even going in the right direction? She hurt. That landing had been less than comfortable, and this new trick the mark had started with almost scared her. 

The mark! Should she try and use it to light her path, like she had before? No, closing the Breach had done something to it. It didn’t glow constantly, anymore. Normally, she would have been glad, but the extra light would have been nice, made her feel not so alone. 

She thought about trying to start a fire, even for a few minutes, but she didn’t know if he was still behind her, somehow. His dragon had swooped in and lifted him away at the last minute, barely missing the landslide that covered the town. But was he gone? Was he behind her? Would he be able to see her if she started a fire? She could use it to make a torch, but would the smoke and light just draw him in again? She didn’t have the strength to face him again; she’d be even less effective against him now than she had been earlier. He’d been able to lift her like a rag doll, toss her aside like she weighed nothing.

She stuck to the tree line, staying in the shadows as much as possible. The trees helped block a little of the wind. Maker, it was so cold. Her clothes were covered in snow. Every bit of sweat from exertion felt like it was turning to ice on her skin, and she was wandering around a frozen mountain with even colder winds. 

She looked over her shoulder and saw her footprints disappear as wind whipped snow around. “So that’s why I can’t find any footprints,” she muttered through chattering teeth. Wait, what was that in the distance - a fire pit? Maybe it was still warm? She pushed herself to move faster, only to discover that the pit was nothing but cold ash.

She was going to die out here. She was never going to see any of her friends again. She was never going to see him again. She wouldn’t get to see her family again. She was never going to find out if her brothers were safe, or if her sister had any more children, or if her father had ever managed to build that boat he wanted, or if her mother ever gave up trying to find a suitable husband for her youngest daughter. Well, that last part wouldn’t matter now; her mother could stop looking. Maker, what she wouldn’t give for one more argument about some nobleman’s son.

Maker’s breath, was she still walking? How long had it been? Where was she going? Was she still walking in a straight line? Was she supposed to be walking in a straight line? In the rush to get everyone else out of the Chantry, no one had thought to mention where she was supposed to meet them. Of course, no one had really expected her to survive. She hadn’t even expected to survive – not this long. And now that she’d survived that, she was just going to die out here, alone in the snow and cold, and no one would ever find her body. 

Where was her bloody cloak? Why had her brother stolen it this time? This was the courtyard of the Circle again, wasn’t it? He knew she used that as a decoy during their snowball fights. Was that why he had taken it? Or, wait, this wasn’t Ostwick’s circle. This was the circle where her brother was a templar, wasn’t it? Which one was it? Tantervale? Wycome? Kaiten, maybe? No, it was Starkhaven, wasn’t it? No, it was Wycome. Aaron would always write about how much he hated when Duke Antione came visiting. The man apparently refused to even be in the same room with the elven mages or templars. Or maybe she was in Ferelden? Hadn’t Tristan said something about the winters in parts of Ferelden being colder than anything she’d experienced in Ostwick? 

Tired, she dropped to her knees, hands burying themselves in the snow to support her weight. So cold. She wasn’t in any of those places. Well, not really. She was in Ferelden, but she was escaping Haven, wasn’t she? She was looking for her friends. She was … lost … in the snow, somewhere in this Maker forsaken mountain when she should be with Weslyn being introduced to her brother-in-law’s family. 

“Can’t stay here, it’s bear country.” She shoved herself to her feet, stumbling the first few steps. Oh, bears! Maybe she could skin one to keep warm. No, wait. She’d never be able to kill a bear by herself. Maybe a nug, but no self-respecting nug would be caught dead this far from the warmth of the Deep Roads, would they? They were smarter than she was. Was that a wolf’s howl? Could she take down a wolf by herself? Maybe on a good day … after a nice rest and hot meal … in the Hinterlands. But here, in the middle of snowy nowhere, after falling through Maker knew what? Not bloody likely. 

One foot in front of the other she went. It made more sense than standing still. She saw another fire pit nearby. “Please still be warm,” she whispered, voice cracking and stuttering as she shivered. The embers barely glowed, but there was a trace of warmth. She dropped to her knees and held nearly frozen hands over the faint smolder, praying what little heat was there would help. Maybe she could stay here for a while, stoke the fire, get it built back up. Another blast of cold wind blew whatever flames might have been coaxed from the coals out, leaving her with little choice but to move again. 

How much further would she have to go? How much further could she go? She wanted to find them. She needed to find them. She wanted to thank that mage who’d rushed to warn them. What was his name – Dorian? She wanted to thank him. She wanted to thank Cole, whatever he was, for helping her in Therinfall Redoubt. She wanted to thank Bull and Cassandra and Blackwall for always rushing to her side out in the Hinterlands when she’d managed to try and take on something bigger, stronger than she was. She wanted to thank Varric for all his stories, and apologize for leaving his book out in the snow that night Cullen found her. She wanted to thank Sera for being willing to put up with all the weirdness, and her Red Jennies had been helpful so far. She even wanted to thank Vivienne and Solas, despite the fact that she could only sort of get along with either of them. She wanted to thank Leliana and Josephine for all their help managing Haven and the Inquisition. And she wanted to thank him. She needed to see Cullen, to thank him for training their men so well, for listening, for staying with her that night, for just being him.

What if she couldn’t find them? How long had she been out here? Weeks? Months? No, she’d already be dead if it was weeks or months. She’d be a frozen Trevelyansicle, buried under mounds of snow by now. Days? Hours? She didn’t know. Time all mushed together. She just had to keep moving, didn’t she? Standing still was bad, right? She just needed to keep going in the direction she was going. That was the most logical thing, wasn’t it? Step, step, step. Right foot, left foot, right foot. 

The snow was deeper now, almost reaching her knees. Movement was so much harder. She was hungry, wasn’t she? She could eat snow, right? It would be something. But it would be so cold. She was so cold. She just wanted to curl into a ball. This was so much worse than being stuck waiting for the carriage at Ostwick’s circle. Stupid First Enchanter with no sense of humor. She didn’t have to put her out without her cloak, did she? Why couldn’t she have remembered her cloak this time? It would have been warmer.

“Herald!”

No, no one was there. It wasn’t him. She had to be imagining things. It was just the wind, rustling in the trees. She ignored the faint whisper, certain her mind was simply playing tricks on her. “Nope, not listening. Not gonna call out to someone that isn’t there.” She kept plodding, almost crawling now. The snow was getting deeper as the wind continued to whip around her.

“Regan!”

“Boss?”

“Trevelyan!”

“There she is!”

Stupid mind, making her hear voices when no one was around. Stupid wind, sounding like Cullen. Stupid echoes, sounding like Bull and Varric and Cassandra. Stupid her for not finding out where they were going. Stupid her for facing a monster and his pet dragon. Stupid her for getting this stupid mark. Stupid her for thinking she could do anything other than get lost in the snow. Stupid feet for giving out on her. Wait, what was that? Her legs were giving up, unwilling or unable to take another step. With a whimper, she dropped into the snow, tired and alone. Cold and exhausted, she just couldn’t do it. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to the shadows she knew weren’t there. She thought she felt fur tickling her nose just before darkness claimed her. Just her imagination, just like thinking she mattered.


End file.
